


My Gift Is My Song, And This Ones For You

by Broadway_trashdump



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Artist!Grantaire, College AU, John Mulaney References, M/M, Music, NYU - Freeform, Recovery, Soulmate AU, ask me how I feel about the mayor of NYC, bad with tags, past alcohol abuse, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:20:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27453397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broadway_trashdump/pseuds/Broadway_trashdump
Summary: When you meet your soulmate, whatever song they’re listening to plays in your head, but what happens if your soulmate doesn’t listen to music?TLDR: Enjolras and Grantaire are soulmates and where Grantaire is obsessed with music, Enjolras listens to audiobooks and thinks music is distracting
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

It started around October. Enjolras was leading a protest against raising subway fair in New York City for the fourth consecutive year. The Mayor refused to listen to the people who came every day to every hearing, explaining that they can’t afford another .50 cent up charge but rely on the subway system so heavily. 

So, Enjolras and his friends did what they did best, held a protest outside city hall. By noon, most of Chambers Street was full of people— with signs, helping each other, chatting with each other. 

It’s the best thing about Manhattan, you all fight for a similar cause. 

The music started ringing in his ears around 1 pm. Which, let me tell you, is inconvenient for Enjolras.

The old wives tale goes that after you meet your soulmate you hear whatever music they’re listeniing to—usually with some secret message about how they’re feeling buried in the lyrics. 

The inconvenience comes from 1) Enjolras hates music. He only ever listens to podcasts, or audiobooks. Music just never made much sense to him. And 2) Enjolras met well over 100 people today alone. 

As Enjolras stands with the megaphone in his hand, getting ready to address the crowd he hears it. 

Heavy drums begin the song, a fast tempo with a mans higher pitched voice coming through in his ears like he’s put a pair of headphones on 

_“Wrapped in your regret, what a waste of blood and sweat_

_I want to taste love and pain_

_I want to feel pride and shame_

_I want to take my time, don’t want to waste one line_

_I want to have better days— never look back and say_

_It could’ve been me. It could’ve been me.”_

Enjolras’ head snaps up, looking around to see if he can see anyone immediately wearing headphones, or maybe just humming along to a song in their head. Perhaps, somewhere deep in his heart, he hopes it’s the dark haired man he met earlier with Jehan—

‘Well that’s just stupid, Enj’ he thinks to himself. 

“E, are you okay? You look spooked..” Courf has suddenly appeared at his side, a concerned look on his face. Enjolras just shakes his head, hoping the song would fall out, or fade away, but it just continues. 

“I’m fine, yeah... sorry I got distracted.” Enjolras says as he fiddles with the strap of the megaphone 

“That’s not like you, are you feeling well?” Combeferre asks, reaching to feel Enjolras’ forehead. He just laughs and shoves Combeferre’s hand away “I’m FINE” 

————— 

Grantaire burrows deeper into his jacket, the October air already frigid. He’s been dragged to a protest in lower Manhattan his loveable, abit misguided roommate, Jehan. They insisted Grantaire has to go and meet their friends from this... social justice club they’re in. 

Of course Grantaire is glad he agreed to come once he met their fearless leader, a man named Enjolras who— truly— looks fresh out of a Renaissance painting, as if the gods themselves materialized him out of marble and gold, chiseled from the same— 

Ahem, yes fine, Grantaire fancies him. 

But what of it? The music didn’t come to him, there’s no beautiful sounds flooding into his ears as he watches. So... 

It isn’t Enjolras. 

It isn’t anyone, and Grantaire should just accept that. 

He’s in no way handsome, or even slightly attractive. A crooked nose from a fight in high school he didn’t want to tell his parents about. 

A hefty body, that no one should dare be tortured to look at. 

_And you’re too tall,_ his brain rudely and lamely adds. 

_Too tall,_ His brain says. Too tall? He’s only 6’1 maybe? That’s perfectly average. 

But his brain always has the last word. 

“Gran, put your headphones in dear heart, I can feel your anxiety going through the roof.” Jehan says as he squeezes Grantaire’s shoulder. 

Grantaire smiles, and pops one headphone in his ear, starting up his favorite Spotify playlist. 

Music has always been a relief for Grantaire, always distracted him from panic, always made him feel better. 

Music has helped him when no one else could. 

When he thought no one understood him or ever felt the same, there was musicians who did, and who wrote songs about the topics, and— well, it made Grantaire not feel so alone. 

—————  
The rally went quickly, afterwards Jehan dragged Grantaire back to the Musain, and began introducing him to the other amis. They all welcomed him warmly— 

“Oh shit, you go to NYU— right?” One of the men , ‘courf’ Grantaire thinks— asks. 

“Oh yeah, yeah I do. I go to Steinhardt, the arts school.” 

“I’ve seen your stuff in the gallery!! You’re amazing, you know that? We all go to NYU.” Courf says, hopping off of his stool excitedly. 

“Ferre, remember that painting in Kimball Hall you loved? The modern take on ‘Girl With a Pearl Earring?’” 

Ferre nods and turns to Grantaire 

“You painted that!? It was beautiful”.

Grantaire laughs and elbows Jehan softly “Jehan was my model, they’re beautiful, I just was given the chance to capture their beauty.” 

Before the conversations can continue, Enjolras runs in, taking his headphones out and hops up on the small stage in the front 

“Sorry, sorry I’m late everyone. I was clearing up some things for the email list and lost track of the time.” 

Grantaire could feel his heart begin beating against his rib cage, and decided it was best to maybe listen to some music. This was just a silly little crush, but his brain would spend the whole meeting berating him if he didn’t have a distraction. 

——————

The second time he heard the music, was right as he was getting ready to talk, AGAIN. If anything, Enjolras’ soulmate must not care if he’s talking at important times, hmm? 

Enjolras looked out into the crowd of people who gathered in the warmth of the Musain, some from the rally, some from previous meetings, as well as his friends who gave him a thumbs up from the tables in the back. 

Enjolras took a deep breath, the words seemingly getting louder as the music swelled, the screech of guitars and drums being played angrily comes through 

_Rat poison for dinner,_

_Pull the cord from the phone,_

_I am dining alone, tonight._

_Pull the cord from the phone_

_I am dining alone, tonight. Tonight. Tonight._

Enj shakes his head, focusing on the group again, right before he begins to speak he sees him, Grantaire looking up. His brown eyes are warm, and make Enjolras think of the summer, warm, like bark on a tree. 

Enjolras smiles and nods to him, and that makes Grantaire smile, his body relaxing in the booth he occupies with Jehan and Ferre. 

Suddenly, Enjolras feels ready to speak. 

——————

The meeting comes and goes easily. Enjolras starts off the meeting by recounting the events at the subway protest, and what they need to improve on for next week. Courf shares the number of signatures they have on their petition from today’s rally about subway fair, how many new people are on the email list, and then finally Joly closes it out by reminding the group to sign up for their flu shot as flu season approaches, and to stay home if you’re feeling sick. 

Grantaire is staying planted in his seat, chatting with Jehan and Ferre, but always keeping an eye on where in the room Enjolras is as he floats between tables, chatting with whoever he finds. 

Silently, Gran wishes he would come over. 

And perhaps Jehan is a mind reader, 

“Hey! Enj! Come here!” Jehan calls from the booth. Grantaire scrambled to close his notebook where he’d been sketching out Enjolras, Courf and Joly as they spoke. 

Enjolras scooted into the booth next to Grantaire and smiles. Grantaire feels his skin warm up where Enjolras’ knee connects with his. 

“Did you enjoy the rally today?” 

Grantaire looks up and realizes Enjolras is waiting for him to respond. 

His eyes are blue like the ocean. Like waves cresting against each other. 

-Grantaire makes a mental note for a painting idea

“Oh, it was fine, I just-“ he shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. 

“I just don’t think DeBlasio is gonna listen to a bunch of random people about raising the fair to 2.75, especially while he doesn’t have to count couch change to get to work every day.” 

Enjolras stares at him for a minute, you can see him beginning to short circuit. 

“Enj, don’t start...” Courf warns 

“You truly believe that? Then why were you at the rally today?” 

Grantaire just scoffs “I signed your petitions, and I have the right to go to any rally I want. Just because I don’t think it’s going to work doesn’t mean I can’t go!” 

Enjolras stands now “if you don’t believe in the cause what do you believe in? Anything?” 

“Well, I believe in you.” Grantaire shrugs as he says it. Enjolras can feel the heat flooding to his face. 

“You’re— you—“ 

Grantaire smiles smugly, waiting for Enjolras to say something. Anything. “I? I’m what?” 

“You have the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair.” 

Grantaire laughs, a deep belly laugh, nearly knocking over his beer as he smacks the table “Okay, pack it up John Mulaney.” 

——————

Enjolras didn’t get home until late that night, between arguing with Grantaire for another hour, cleaning up, and helping Musichetta close, it was closer to midnight than he’d like it to be. 

Courferyac was sprawled out on the couch, flipping through TV channels endlessly. He looked up and smiled at Enjolras

“Well it’s about time, are you done fighting with Grantaire for the night? Or should I expect him to be following in a few moments?” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes and starts digging in a box of records they keep in the living room. 

“Music? Is that you Enjolras? Or have you been replaced by an alien?” 

Enjolras hesitates, holding an old beat up record in his hand— it was his mother’s. She loved music and all he wanted when she died was her box of records. His father graciously tossed the box of vinyls out at Enj on the day he kicked him out. 

This was one of his mother’s favorite records. She used to put it on and slow dance with enjorlas as a child. 

The cover was a soft yellow, Etta James was on the cover, her name in big red letters. Enjolras ran his hand across the soft card stock, remembering. 

“Enjolras, please you’re really freaking me out. Let me call Ferre, or Jehan.” 

Courf is standing next to him now, a warm hand on his shoulder. 

Enjolras just looks at him. 

He doesn’t know what to say, truly. 

“I started hearing it. Music.” Is all he can say, words escaping him. 

Courf nods, a supportive smile spreading across his face 

“Well that’s good, but you’ve probably left your soulmate hanging. They probably can’t hear your NPR or true crime podcasts.” 

Enjolras laughs and turns the record over in his hands. 

“Yeah... well I want them to hear the first and only song to ever make me feel loved.” 

Courf just nods as he plugs in the record player. 

————————  
Grantaire was working away in his studio. The painting in front of him was one he was proud of. He’s worked on it all night since leaving the Musain. 

It’s clearly Enjolras, from the shoulders up. His gold ringlets dropping down past his ears. His lips plump and soft and pink, but where his eyes should be, there’s a bar across the canvas of detailed waves. Hundreds of shades of blue and green make up the waves, the crests. It’s beautiful. 

Not as beautiful as the muse though. 

Violins loudly begin to flood the air, and a woman’s sultry voice comes through, slow and soulful. 

_“At last, my love has come along—_

_my lonely days are over._

_And life is like a song”_

Grantaire sighs and walks out of his studio, knocking on Jehans door. 

Jehan opens it, in their plaid pajama pants and grey t-shirt, rubbing their eyes. 

“Can you turn the music down?” Grantaire asks, leaning against the door frame. 

“I’m not playing music?” Jehan says as they lean in front of Grantaire 

Grantaire just stares at them. If he wasn’t playing the music... who was? 

“You... you don’t hear it? Etta James? At last my love has come along?” Grantaire says, worry rising in his throat. 

“Oh my god you met your soulmate!? who is it!?” 

Grantaire rolls his eyes “obviously if I knew I wouldn’t have thought you were playing music, Pouvaire.” 

Jehan nods, considering for a minute. “You know who really likes Etta? Courf. I hear him humming that song all the time.” 

Grantaire stops to consider. 

Poor bastard, stuck with a terrible soulmate like Grantaire. He knows nothing of love and knows nothing of caring for other people. 

Courf should just hate him, like everyone else hates him. 

“Gran, you’re doing it again.” 

Grantaire looks down to Jehan. “What? What am I doing?” 

“I know you like a sock knows a shoe, Aire. You’re beating yourself up again. First, we don’t even know if it is Courf! I just said he likes the song.” 

Grantaire looks down, and begins playing with the strings of his paint covered hoodie. 

“I— they probably think ‘oh cool cool my soulmate! I found the one person who is supposed to make me endlessly happy for the rest of their lives and—“ 

He wraps the hoodie string around his finger, again and again then undoes it and wraps it again, back and forth as anxiety takes over. 

“And then, they’re gonna realize it’s me and leave. And be disappointed, because... J, why would they stay?” 

Jehan just sighs, grabbing the mans hand and pulling him to the couch. He pushes Grantaire onto the couch softly, then collects the speaker remote and his phone. 

Jehan then wiggles his way under Grantaire and cuddles him closely. 

Grantaire can’t find the energy to protest, so he just accepts and cuddles into Jehan, practically laying on top of him as Jehan runs a hand through the curls on the mans head lazily, their phone in the other hand. 

“What am I going to play?” 

——————  
Enjolras lays across his bed, laptop in his lap, typing away for the newsletter. He hasn’t heard any music since he played the record earlier, was that too? Much? 

Did he scare his soulmate away? 

Come back. 

As much as he hates music, hearing his soulmates songs all day made him not feel so alone. 

It started quietly, 

Lo-fi beats coming through, pounding softly, and a woman’s soft voice began to sing 

_“I get so lonely, I forget what I'm worth_

_We get so lonely, we pretend that this works_

_I'm so ashamed of myself think I need therapy_

_I'm sorry I'm not more attractive.”_

His heart clenched at the words, did his soulmate really feel this way? 

No one deserves to feel this way about themselves.

he sighs, closing his laptop and rolling over in bed, drifting off into a sleep surrounded by the sad lyrics of many sad songs. 

Someday he’ll find his soulmate, and they’ll never feel that way again. 

—————— 

Weeks had passed, sad song in, sad song out. 

Different feelings through different songs. 

Pain, hurt, self hate. 

The occasional 80s pop ballad which Enjolras will admit to having enjoyed. But he still didn’t know who. 

There’s one song that his soulmate did listen to more than the others, Enjolras can recall it word for word now, having heard the heartbreaking lament over and over. 

_‘I stopped making deals with God_

_When the light finally died_

_I'm gonna guard what's left of the good in us_

_When the ash blocks out the sky_

_And hold you with my left hand_

_And ball up my right_

_And if the bastards come for both of us_

_I'll be right there by your side_

_I'm by your side_

_When I was in shambles_

_When I got too weak_

_The ocean grew hands to hold me_

_When I was in shambles_

_When I got too weak_

_The ocean grew hands to hold me.’_

It felt like a panic attack, the drums and guitars rising from a soft buzz, to an impactful full sound, heavy and mournful. 

Heavy with a hundred emotions. 

Heavy with the feeling of depression, of hopelessness. 

Everytime it came on, Enjolras had to sit down, remind himself to breathe. 

—————— 

The best part of Grantaire’s favorite song, is the end. 

It closes out with the singer saying 

_‘I miss the ocean’_

And a long moment of just music so you can stew in the emotion of the song. He listens to it often, laying on the couch as it shakes the walls, the drums and bass shaking the speakers. 

He listens to it when he wants to drink again. 

Which is often. 

He listens to it when he has an intrusive thought. 

Which is often. 

And worst of all, he listens to it when he needs to not feel alone. 

Which is often.

Maybe someday, he’ll hear a song from his soulmate again, and maybe someday, he won’t be so alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More songs more angst yk

The time continued on, Enjolras being exposed to more and more music— sad, happy, throwbacks, 90s pop, and he actually liked it. He liked it, he liked the peek into his soulmates mind, no matter how sad. 

Grantaire, though, just sat in burning silence. He can’t even remember the last song he heard. 

Actually he can, it was the J. G. Wentworth jingle from those stupid commercials on cable, and that was at least a month ago. 

The air has grown colder as December chugs on. Grantaire continued to go to meetings, and argue with Enjolras when he can find the right moment. 

And he draws, he sketches birds, and trees, and the other Amis, and Enjolras. A lot. 

He thinks about his finals. 

He thinks about his soulmate. 

“Grantaire, are you even listening?” 

He slams his notebook shut and looks up to see the room turned to face the table he sits at with Joly and Jehan. 

“I— yeah, yeah I was.” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes and pushes a strand of his hair behind his ear, something he does when he’s frustrated, Grantaire has learned. It’s cute, the rushed movements and the huffs. 

“Then you’ll do it?” 

“Yeah sure, yeah uh— what did I agreed to do exactly?” 

The room groans and Bahorel let’s out a boisterous chuckle 

“Aire, Enjolras asked if you’d be willing to draw up some fliers for the zine we’ve planning for the new year, and Christmas cards for the Angel Tree kids were donating toys to?” Jehan repeats quietly next to him 

Grantaire sighs, he hates Christmas. Shitty parents, shitty memories. 

But, If he can make a kids Christmas a little better he will. 

“Yeah. Yeah I’ll do it.” 

Enjolras nods, his smile tight, almost forced. “Okay. I’ll bring by the kids interests and the things for the zine maybe Tuesday. Your studio is in the east village building right? Stuyvesant?” 

Grantaire nods, genuinely amazed that Enjolras remembers where his studio is. 

_They’re the school studios, idiot! Of course an NYU student knows where the NYU studios are!!_

But that’s also not true, because why would a Law student know where the art studios are? Maybe he just genuinely cares, Grantaire! 

Grantaire continues to argue with himself through the end of the meeting. 

————— 

Enjolras began the twelve block walk in silence, then after about three blocks, and a man following him asking to buy his mixtape

(which, Enjolras did buy. He can respect people working their asses off to put out something for people, and gave the man ten dollars. His happiness was enough for him to not miss the ten dollar bill. Now Enjolras just needs to find a CD player.) 

Enjolras decided to put his headphones in, and instead of Audible, he opened Spotify for once. 

—————

Grantaire had been buzzing around his studio tidying up the area, throwing away old MUD coffee cups, orange to go cups just scattered around the room from the local coffee shop.

He was on his third stack of cups being thrown into the recycling bin when he heard it 

_“So maybe it'd be better off to write her_

_And leave a little note right there beside her_

_That says maybe we're not perfect_

_But I'll be damned if I ever leave_

_Damned if I ever leave“_

“John Mayer!? Really!?” Grantaire groans. “You are a vengeful god, you know that? No one listens to John Mayer except John Mayer!” 

Grantaire cant hide his excitement, though. Hearing his soulmates music just makes him feel light, Makes him feel not alone. 

His throat dries at the thought, and suddenly he can’t stop his brain from wandering. Why? Why would anyone we stuck with HIM as a soulmate? It’s unfair to them. 

Honestly, Grantaire can’t imagine anyone being stuck with him. He’s weird, he’s meticulous, he’s crass. 

He’s ugly. He’s stumpy. He’s fat. And he fucking hates himself. 

No one should be stuck with that. No one should be stuck with Grantaire as a soulmate. 

the music stops quickly and soon a knock shakes Grantaire from his intrusive thoughts. He opens the window of the small studio first, throwing the last of the trash on his small couch away, quickly covering up the painting of enjolras he’s been working on and pushing it behind his easel, then finally opened the door. 

Enjolras held a Manila folder in his hands, as well as his phone and headphones. He was wrapped in his coat, and a navy blue scarf. 

“Winter getting to you, Enj?”  
Enjolras just rolls his eyes and pushes past Grantaire into the studio, throwing himself onto the small couch. 

“Twelve blocks is dare I say, too big of a campus for this stupid school.”

Grantaire laughs and sits next to him, grabbing a sketch pad. Enjolras quickly gets to work pulling out the kids profiles for the Angel Tree Project and pointing where their interests are on the pages. Grantaire nods along making notes 

Angela likes my little pony, Dré likes Batman, Mariposa likes Moana, Kevin likes spiderman, Wesley likes Mickey and Minnie Mouse, Jazmine likes Justice Leauge. Simple kid stuff, it’ll be easy enough to make cards for all of them. Grantaire nods along as Enjolras explains each kid and how the program works. 

Each child’s size is submitted and people volunteer to buy them shoes, clothes, a coat and one toy. Grantaire’s cards are just a nice addition that Enjolras thought the kids would enjoy. 

“Yeah, yeah I can do that. When do you need them by?” Grantaire asks as Enjolras flips through one of Grantaire’s sketch books that he made sure was free of pictures of Enjolras. 

Enjolras smiles and points to a pencil sketch of Courferyac, Combeferre and Joly laughing at the bar of the Musain, not really listening to Grantaire. 

He flips to the next page and there’s a beautiful oil pastel of hyacinth flowers, on the bottom, ‘al al’ is inscripted on the page. 

“What’s this?” Enjolras asks, pointing to the picture on the page 

“Well, they’re Hyacinths. Hyacinth was Apollo’s lover, and after an accident he died, so Apollo made his spilled blood into the flower. On the petals of the flower he wrote ‘al al’, or ‘alas’. It was like, their word for despair.” 

Grantaire plays with the rip in the knee of his jeans as Enjolras stares at the painting. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

It makes Grantaire smile, and consider the amount of money he would pay for every day to be like this, Enjolras complementing his art, their knees touching, in his studio, the cold December air creaking through the open window. 

Enjolras closes the sketchbook softy and nods, pulling out the things for the January Zine next, as he files through things and explaining things to Grantaire he begins to take notes, sketching out the cover already. 

An hour or two has passed, they’re working quietly next to each other. Enjolras has whipped out his laptop, typing away senselessly. Grantaire is sketching a draft of the cover. 

The music starts in his ears again as he sketches a snowflake. It starts off slow, piano ringing in, soon he hears the soft male voice supplying words. 

_“It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside,_

_I’m not one of those who can easily hide._

_I don’t have much money, but if I did,_

_I’d buy a big house where we both could live.”_

Grantaire just sighs and rubs his temples, glancing up to see that Enjolras types away with one headphone in. 

“What are you listening to? You already debated Combeferre about this weeks episode of your favorite podcast.” He says with a laugh. Enjolras just sighs, pulling his headphone out. 

“Have you found your soulmate yet?” 

Grantaire is taken back by the question, and the music that is suddenly missing from his ears. 

“Well, I hear music, but it’s only occasional, maybe once or so a month. You?” 

Enjolras groans and throws himself back on the small couch, much like a child throwing a temper tantrum 

“Yes! And they listen to music CONSTANTLY! all hours of the day and night! Even worse, I’m starting to like music! It reminds me of them! And I like it! I want to hold them when they feel like these songs make me feel and let them know it’s okay!” He sighs and rolls over so his body is facing the cushions. 

“The worst part is, 1) they’re so sad. All of the songs are sad, and I just want them to feel better and I don’t even know how to make them feel better. And 2) I don’t even have a remote clue as to who it is.” 

Grantaire just continues to sketch, thinking about the song that was just playing in his head, and how abruptly it dissipated. “Sorry Enj, that’s the mystery of life isn’t it?” 

Enjolras sits up quickly, typing away in his laptop again. “Have you heard this song before? It’s a band I’ve never heard of but they listen to this song constantly. I don’t know maybe you know someone who likes this band and can help me. You look—“ enjolras looks Grantaire up and down. “Punk?” 

Grantaire rolls his eyes and waits for the song to load. 

Instantly the same song he plays day in and day out floods through from Enjolras’ speakers on his laptop, and panic drops like iron in his stomach, distorted strings and heavy drums begin softly ringing— 

_“I heard somebody cry_

_I thought I was alone_

_I came to numb my lungs in the salt air_

_Let the breakers heal my bones_

_I wish that the current would carry me home_

_I've been running for a decade now_

_And I think I'm ready to go_

_Oh, I'm ready to go”_

Grantaire closes Enjolras’ laptop and turns to him, pushing down the bile rising in his throat. He felt like he was someone else, putting on an act of someone who’s never heard this stupid fucking song before. 

No no, NO NO NO. 

The Wonder Years have millions of fans. It’s not Grantaire. 

“Yeah no I’ve never heard that song. Uh, you were just listening to something right? What were you listening to? An audio book? Another podcast?” Grantaire is balling his hands around his sketchbook, fingers turning white. Enjolras doesn’t even notice, just opens his laptop again and begins typing away. 

“Hmm? Oh, no I was listening to Elton John.” He huffs out a laugh, “80s music is my guilty pleasure. ‘Your song’ by Elton is my absolute favorite.” 

“Oh! Haha cool, yeah— uh, anyway I completely forgot— I have to go. Yeah, I have work. Yeah— so this was good uh, I’ll have all the stuff to you by next week, just. Yeah just lock up okay? Bye yeah gotta go aha—“ Grantaire spurts out as he throws things in his bag, stumbling to the door and eventually running out. 

Enjolras sits there like an absolute idiot, no idea what just happened. 

———————

Grantaire runs the entire 10 blocks home, he charges into the apartment, locking the door behind him, then defeatedly sliding down the door to a sitting position, his forearms resting on the tops of his knees, his whole body shakey, eyes glassy. 

Jehan runs into the foyer area, a worried look on their face, and kneels in front of Grantaire, gingerly placing a calm hand on his tremoring arm. 

“Aire, what happened, love?” 

Grantaire just rested his head on his arm, taking a few deep breaths. 

“The music, t—the music, it’s Enjolras.” 

Jehan wiggles their way next to him, wrapping their arms around his arm and leaning into Grantaire’s shoulder quietly. 

“Is that such a bad thing?” Jehan asks softly tracing circles into R’s arm with his finger. 

Grantaire huffs out a laugh as new tears form in his eyes. The laugh was hollow, much like Grantaire felt. 

“For me? No. I’ve been blessed by some— some fucking celestial lottery to have the most beautiful soulmate in all of the world, not just physical beauty, but smart and savior all those— fucking Enjolras-esque buzzwords to describe him.” 

He huffs as a few tears escape, and he harshly rubs them away with the sleeve of his arm not occupied by Jehan 

“For him, for him though. How dare the gods play such a cruel trick on him. To be stuck with— this, it’s just worse versions of this every year!” He adds with a laugh, deflecting to humor as usual. 

“Grantaire, I don’t think mid mental breakdown is a good time for a John Mulaney reference.” Jehan says quietly. 

Grantaire just sighs again “it’s not fair to him. A beautiful man, smart as a whip, and passionate to be stuck with me, an ogre of a person, ugly, stupid fucking no beliefs Aire, you know?” 

Jehan ignores the self deprecation, another fight for another time. 

“Did you tell him? How do you know?” 

Eventually during the recounting of the last 4 hours, Grantaire and Jehan have moved from the floor in front of the door, to the couch, where R and Jehan face each other, under one blanket laying across the couch. 

“You just left him there!?” 

Gran grimaces and scratches his head “I didn’t know what else to do!? I just ran!!” 

“Grantaire, you need to talk to him. This isn’t fair to him.” 

Grantaire sits up and stares at Jehan. Their face is stoic and serious. 

“I can’t do that. You know that.” 

“And why not!?” 

Grantaire just gets up, flinging the blanket off himself “because I can’t face the look of absolute disgust when Enjolras finds out, okay?! For now, he can tolerate me as a friend, fine, but to see the way he’d feel when he learns the universe royally FUCKED him in the soulmate department? No fucking way.” 

With that, Grantaire storms off to his room and slams the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JG wentworth jingle: a really stupid catchy operatic jingle for?? I don’t even know. Look it up. 
> 
> Angel tree- basically explained in the story, but underprivileged kids get Christmas sponsors and the sponsor buys them shoes, a coat, and whatever else they want to buy really, and then the kids have presents for Christmas! It’s a really great thing 
> 
> And MUD is really a coffee shop up the street from the Barney Building at NYU and they have bright orange to go cups look them up. 
> 
> Songs: 
> 
> Never on the day you leave- John Mayer  
> Your song- Elton John  
> The Ocean Grew Hands to Hold Me- The Wonder Years


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ALOT. a lot of things happen. New Jersey.

Grantaire stopped going to meetings. Grantaire stopped talking to the Amis, except Jehan of course, who filled him in after every meeting that they all miss him.

Grantaire just nods, and rolls over in bed, or nods and continues whatever painting he's working on. Jehan just sighs and continues on with their day, making sure Grantaire eats, or gets up and moves a little.

And Grantaire listens to music. A lot of music. Music to keep the bad thoughts out of his head, music to keep Enjolras out of his head.

The music was loud, and angry because Grantaire was angry. He was angry at the fates or the gods or whoever did this to him, blessed him with an amazing soulmate, and cursed Enjolras to be with him.

He just shakes his head and turns up the old Bluetooth speaker his phone is connected to.

“ _I, I heard a song on the radio Try to tell me I'm not alone But I feel like it today_

_And I, I heard a song on the radio Sadly that's just the way it goes And I think I'm gonna break_

_I keep thinking of ways to make it seem like an accident Pull the brake on my bike so if the bus runs the light,_

_well then...I've been telling myself that it can't be that serious, But if I'm sounding like this_

_I guess it is”_

As the heavy drums and bass continued to ring through his studio Grantaire couldn’t stop himself. He picked up the cup of dirty paint water and threw it against the canvas, letting the anger, the pent up emotion, all the things he’s been holding in finally flow out. He takes the canvas off the easel and smashes it against the concrete floor.

The wood frame shatters, still held together in one corner.

So he kicks it.

Again and again.

At some point, he ends up on his knees crying on the floor of the studio.

Thank god for soundproofing.

At some point he gets up, leaving the NYU building to head home. Not without a stop at the liquor store.

———————

It makes Enjolras anxious. It makes him fidget, not paying attention as Courf talks to the table. Enjolras picks at his nails, a terrible habit he thought he kicked but something about the way words burn into his brain made him pick it up again.

_“ I think I'm gonna break_

_I keep thinking of ways to make it seem like an accident Pull the brake on my bike so if the bus runs the light,_

_well then...I've been telling myself that it can't be that serious, But if I'm sounding like this_

_I guess it is”_

Enjolras is snapped from his own thoughts by Ferre. 

“Enj, we’re you listening? You’re not acting like yourself.” He says, a worried look creeping onto his face. 

Enjolras looks up from his fingernails and forces a smile, which looks almost painful. 

“Sorry, lost in my head again. what happened?” 

“No, what’s going on with you? You never do this anymore.” Courf says as he smacks Enjolras’ hand down. 

Jehan shoots a look to Courf. “It’s okay Enj, you tell us when you’re ready.” 

Enjolras just sighs. 

“I’m worried about my soulmate. I’m worried about Grantaire. My soulmate has been playing songs that, god, there’s so much anguish. So much pain, I hope they’re okay.” Enjolras sighs and Jehan fidgets in their seat. 

“And Grantaire, I don’t know what happened we were hanging out and then he just bolted and stopped coming to meetings and won’t answer my texts and calls.” 

He says turning to Jehan, hoping for some clarification. Jehan just sighs and rubs their finger along the grain of the wood table. 

“Jehan, please. Just tell me he’s okay.” 

Jehan doesn’t look up, just follows the grain of the table, but still answers “he has a lot going on right now, just give him some time.” 

——————— 

Jehan could hear the music flooding out of the studio before they unlocked the front door to the apartment. They sighed and straightened their back before entering, then pushing the door open softly. The words flood the living room, the music practically shaking the walls. 

_“It's no big surprise you turned out this way_

_When they close their eyes and prayed you would change_

_And they cut your hair and sent you away_

_You stopped by my house the night you escaped_

_With tears in my eyes, I begged you to stay”_

Jehan made his way across the apartment, making a beeline to the door of Grantaire’s private studio where the music is flowing from. He doesn’t even knock, just lets himself into a sad scene. 

Grantaire is sitting on the ground against the wall, a handle of some alcohol Jehan didn’t care to know the brand of in his hand. 

He’s covered in paint, a broken portrait sits in a heap on the floor. 

“Oh, Aire...” Jehan says quietly as they turn the music down, kneeling in front of Grantaire. Grantaire just shrugs and brings the bottle to his lips, chugging away at the amber liquid. 

“What can I say, Pouvaire? I’m just a fuck up. 8 months of sobriety?” He makes a raspberry noise, with a thumbs down. “Fuck it.” He says sipping from the bottle again. 

Jehan just stands up, takes the bottle from Grantaire with very little protest from the drunken man on the floor, and grabs Grantaire’s phone to pause the song. 

“You need to get up, shower, and go to bed. These are not suggestions. Tomorrow, you’re gonna wake up and get the fuck to work on these paintings because your gallery exhibit is next week at NYU and I won’t let you miss it.” 

Jehan watches Grantaire with a serious eye, and Grantaire knows he’s fucked up, royally. He just nods and stands up shakily, Jehan wraps an arm around him and leads him to the bathroom.   
—————  
the sun rises the next morning, and to his displeasure, Grantaire has a hangover. 

“What a weak bitch, come on we used to finish handles without the twinge of a headache,” he says to his body. “Who are you now? Sobriety has made you weak.” 

He just sighs and rolls over burying his head into his pillow. 

Soft guitar strumming plays in his ears, he recognizes the tune quickly

_“You're what keeps me believing the world's not long dead,_

_Strength in my bones put words in my head._

_When they pour out to paper, it's all for you._

_'Cause, that's what you do. That's what you do.”_

It makes him smile, under the guise that his soulmate is a good person, Enjolras has already picked up on some of Gran’s favorite artists.

He just sighs and gets up, feet padding against the hardwood to bring him to the kitchen where Jehan waits with a kettle of tea and a bagel for Grantaire.

“So, I guess we need to talk. You don’t have the kettle unless I’m about to get parented”

Jehan just nods and sets their cup down, waiting for Grantaire to sit.

He sits and bites the bagel made for him. After a few beats of silence, he speaks first

“You’re mad at me.”

Jehan shakes their head “not mad, I’m not your mother, Aire. I’ll never get mad at you for something silly.”

“You’re allowed to be mad at me. I ruined my recovery. You can be mad at me, yell at me.”

Jehan shakes their head again

“Progress isn’t linear. You’re allowed to relapse. As long as today you can look back and decipher what made you upset and what caused this.”

Grantaire sighs and stirs his spoon around in his tea.

“Gran, you know people are allowed to like you. You know that right? Even if you don’t love yourself right now, people are allowed to love you.” Jehan says, reaching over and holding Grantaire’s hand.

“There’s that old quote, you know— “If you don't love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?”“

Jehan busts up laughing 

“Did you just quote Drag Race at me? ME!?” 

It makes Grantaire laugh too, seeing the Joy on Jehan's face. 

“But, all jokes aside. That isn’t fair. That isn’t fair to you or the millions of people who feel the same way as you. You deserve love no matter how you feel about yourself.” 

Grantaire just nods along, staring into his tea. 

Jehan waits. 

“I want you to say it. “I deserve love no matter how I feel about myself.”.” 

Grantaire sighs 

“I deserve love no matter how I feel about myself.” 

Jehan smiles warmly and gets up, hugging Gran tightly. 

“People are allowed to love you.” 

“People are allowed to love me.” 

Jehan smiles again and rubs Grantaire’s shoulder. “So are you gonna talk to Enj?” 

Grantaire just snorts and gets up placing his dish in the sink, beelining for his bedroom. Jehan sighs, at least it’s a step in the right direction. 

Grantaire emerges a few minutes later in his paint-covered jeans, his paint-splattered hoodie, and his knit cap, book bag slung over his shoulder. 

“I’ll be at my studio if you need me, I’m feeling oddly inspired this morning,” Gran says with a smirk as he walks out  
——————  
Enjolras was not one to be ignored. He started at Jehan and Grantaire’s apartment. 

“He isn’t here, he left a few hours ago,” Jehan said simply, as he sipped from his teacup.

“Jehan please, I just need to talk to him. Why is he mad at me?” 

Jehan just shakes their head. “It’s— it’s a long story. You didn’t hear this from me, but he’s at his studio. Go talk to him.” 

Enjolras just nods, determined, and walks out. 

——————

He approaches the Barney Building as the music begins to fill his head, a slow, soft song beginning with a strong soulful voice. 

_“Go home to nothing or stay out for more?_

_Give in to someone or lock down my door?_

_Or drown all my shadows, drown them like before?_

_I'm drowning shadows once more_

_The more I drink, the more I drown_

_If I'm not thinking, I won't lay down_

_The more I rise above it all_

_The less I care about the fall”_

As he approached Grantaire’s studio, the music got louder, stronger— Like it was in his chest, each note and crescendo shaking his bones. He really has no fucking idea what this means, but he hates it. He hates the feeling of the music shaking his chest. Is it playing outside? Is it that loud in the building? 

He doesn't even knock. He just walks in, something tells him to just walk in. That's rude, Enjolras. He ignores his brain, for once he ignores all logic and just lets himself in, as if this is his studio. 

He felt like he already knew what was waiting for him. Like he's known forever. 

Grantaire sits with his back to the door, and the old, paint-splattered Bluetooth speaker next to him, Enjolras can tell its playing the same song. They're overlapping, the one in his head and the one in the real world.

Grantaire is painting, his knit cap hiding his black ringlets of hair as he sings along. 

_"Go home to nothing or stay out for more?_

_Give in to someone or lock down my door?_

_Or drown all my shadows, drown them like before?_

_I'm drowning shadows once more"_

Enjolras just stares. He can feel his hands shaking. "Its you?" 

Grantaire lazily looks behind him, and instantly jumps to the speaker, knocking it over, probably breaking-- but at least the fucking music stops. 

He then jumps up, knocking over his easel and the painting he was working on as he turns to face Enjolras. 

"It's you." Enjolras says again. 

"Enj, I am so sorry. I'm-- I'm just really sorry." Grantaire stutters out as he tries to pick up his easel but also not look at Enjolras and actually, he really wishes he could fucking disappear. 

"I-- you knew?" 

and you know what, 

Grantaire couldn't think of anything better in that moment except this--

He ran. 

Enjolras just stood there, shocked, and alone. 

he tried to follow, he made it out of the building after him, but saw him dip into the subway station, and knew it was the end of the trail.

\---------

Hours passed, and Enjolras didn't know what to do. After a few minutes of sitting on the steps of the barney building, kind of hoping that Grantaire will come back from the subway, he got up and left as well.

eventually he finds his way to Jehan's apartment, hoping Grantaire came home. 

Jehan opens the door, a sad smile on his face that already gave Enjolras the answer he didn't want. 

"Come in, I'll put the kettle on and we can have a chat." Jehan says softly as they turn and walk to the kitchen, their bunny slippers sliding across the linolium. 

Enjolras just obeys and follows. Jehan makes the tea and hands Enjolras a cup, heading to the couch. The pair sit on the couch in silence for a few beats. Enjolras can't stand the silence. He can't stand the silence in his head, and he can't stand the silence in front of him with Jehan. 

"Do you know where he is?" 

Jehan nods softly and sips his tea. 

"But you won't tell me?"

Jehan sighs and wraps a throw blanket around his legs softly. "He's going to Marcelines, His sister." 

Enjolras just stares at his tea. What did he do wrong? Is he that bad of a soulmate? 

"It's not you, you know. I can feel how much anxiety you're collecting." 

"How long has he known?" Enjolras asks, glancing up from his tea. Jehan stops to consider for a moment. 

"Three weeks or so... Again, it's not you, Enj." Jehan supplies, rubbing his arm softly. 

"If it's 'not me' Jehan, why is he avoiding me? What did I do?" Enjolras can feel his face growing hot out of frustration. 

"Listen, Enjolras, lets play a game. How would you describe Grantaire?" 

Enjolras looks at him incredulously, but Jehans face just reads 'humor me.' 

"Well, He's soft, and caring. Smart and strong, funny." He huffs a laugh from his nose, remembering things Grantaire has said since they met in October to make him laugh. "He's... so beautiful. His hair and his deep brown eyes-- I, yeah." Enjolras stops himself before he begins waxing on about how he hasn't stopped thinking of Grantaire since they met that cold october morning. 

Something along the lines of fondness spreads across Jehan's face, a soft smile dancing on their lips. 

"okay, now think of the opposite of every word you just described him as. That is Grantaire's brain every day, at every minute, and it scares him that someone can actually care for him, or even think of him the way you think of him."   
Enjolras' mouth makes a small 'o', understanding what Jehan is telling him. 

"But, I do care for him-- and, and I want to tell him everyday. I want to wake up next to him. I want to sing along with him to these songs I've fallen in love with and I want to show him that I think all these things about him." 

Jehan gets up and hugs Enjolras tightly. 

“Listen, I didn’t give you Marceline’s address, okay? You guessed it if he asks.” Jehan says as he types a New Jersey address into Enjolras’ phone. 

“Just— give him a few days, okay?” 

———— 

So that’s how we ended up here. Enjolras riding the stupid train to some stupid town in stupid New Jersey. 

In stupid, stupid fucking silence. 

Holding these stupid, stupid fucking flowers wrapped in plastic. Purple hyacinths. 

After about a 20 minute walk from the train station to a little brickfront house, Enjolras’ stomach was in knots. He could probably still run, still charge home. 

But no, he found himself ringing the doorbell of this house. 

After a few minutes a woman, not much older than 30 opens the door, bouncing a toddler on her hip. She’s beautiful, and she is clearly Marceline. Her black curly hair falls past her shoulders, fair skin rosy in all the right places, and the same warm brown eyes Grantaire sports. she’s dressed in leggings and a big oversized sweater. The child sports the same hair, same eyes, and is in footie pajamas that are navy blue with constellations on them. She shies away from Enjolras and tucks her head into Marcelines shoulder. 

She looks him up and down 

“You know— I have explicit instructions that if a ‘god of a man’ or ‘someone who looks like the human embodiment of Apollo’ comes to the house to not let them in.” 

Enjolras deflates, letting out a sigh. 

“But he isn’t here right now he ran to the farmers market for me. Come in.” She says quickly as she turns. She places the toddler on the couch as Mickey Mouse Club House plays on the tv. 

“Don’t mind Madeline, she isn’t big on new guests. She’ll warm up to you though.” Marceline says as she walks further into the house, “leave your boots by the door.” 

Enjolras is still standing on her stoop with the door open wide in front of him. 

“Either come or go but you’re letting the heat out!” She calls from the kitchen. 

He decides to go in, kicking his boots neatly against the wall

Her kitchen is warm, with a little round table in the middle. It reminds him of his mother, the yellow accents and sunflowers around. Marceline sets down a cup of tea on the table and points for him to sit, he does as commanded and sips his tea, thankful for the warmth the cup brings to his cold hands. 

After a few moments she joins him on the other side of the table, her own cup in hand. She’s studying him, he can feel her eyes boring into every inch of him. 

“Well, you have about 30 minutes until he gets back. What’s your plan?” 

She has a point. Enjolras has no plans. 

“You’re already a step in the right direction, Hyacinths are his favorite flower.” 

“No offense ma’am, but I never even have a chance to say anything— your brother is kind of a flight risk, y’know?” 

Marceline laughs, a deep belly laugh, similar to Grantaire’s. It makes Enjolras smile. “no, no.. I know. Trust me. He has his own room here for how often he runs away. Listen, our parents... they weren’t really emotional people. Cold and calculated. I got out as soon as I could, and I told Grantaire that if shit ever got bad, or he wanted to leave he could come here. I was the only positive emotional support he had.” 

She shrugs, and leans on her elbows on the table 

“He still struggles with emotional stuff, like people liking him, or even expressing his own emotions. Just be patient.” 

Enjolras nods, fidgeting with one of the Hyacinth blooms that were now laying on the table. 

“So... just for future reference—“ she clears her throat sitting up slightly. “Are these ‘you’re-my-soulmate-and-I-want-to-be-with-you’ flowers or are they like... ‘you’re-my-soulmate-and-I-don’t-want-to-be-with-you-here’s-a-parting-gift-before-your-sister-smashes-a-folding-chair-over-my-head’ flowers? 

Enjolras lets out a breathy laugh and drops the bloom he was fidgeting with.

“They’re the first one. I wanted to be with him before I knew he was my soulmate. I was hoping it was him at first...” he shrugs, staring into his tea mug. 

They spend the next twenty minutes chatting when they hear the door open. 

“Uncle R, you’re baaaaaack.” An unfamiliar tiny voice speaks up, erupting in giggles quickly, Enjolras smiles realizing it’s Madeline. 

“Hey Marcie I’m home, the farmers market didn’t have any radishes. And who’s boots are by the—“ Grantaire enters the kitchen with Madeline slung over his shoulder as she continues to scream out a giggle. 

Enjolras notes that Grantaire really looks like a deer in headlights. The cogs in his head are clearly turning as he tries to figure out an escape route. 

Marceline stands up, instantly pointing at Grantaire 

“Don’t you fucking do it I swear to fuck Grantaire don’t you fucking move a muscle.” 

Through the utter silence in the room, Madeline speaks up “oooh mommy said a bad word. You’re in trouble uncle R.” She says from her still upside down position. 

Marceline moves and takes Madeline from him. 

“Sit down and use your big boy words. You can’t run from every problem.” Her eyes soften at this, and Enjolras feels like he shouldn’t be here. 

She just pats Gran’s back and pushes him down into the chair. 

“We’ll be in the living room if you need us.” 

She nods to Enjolras, giving him a quick thumbs up and walks out of the kitchen. 

A few minutes of silence pass. The more silence that passed between them, the angrier Enjolras got. 

“So you’re just not going to talk?” Enjolras says after what felt like a lifetime. 

“I’m not the one who showed up out of the blue.” Grantaire bites back. 

Enjolras slams his hands down on the table “I’m not the one who fucking ran away! Who just— just left!!” 

Grantaire sighs “I’m sorry, I’m sorry okay? I’m sorry for running and I’m sorry you got fucking stuck with me as a soulmate!” 

“And that’s another thing!” Enjolras stands now, pacing the kitchen, his socked feet silent against the linoleum, but anger radiating off of him. 

“Why do you keep apologizing? Has to ever occurred to you that perhaps, just maybe, I’m not ‘stuck’ with you!? That I want to actually be with you?!” Enjolras snaps. 

Grantaire just scoffs, letting out a small laugh as well. “Yeah sure. Okay. You? With me?.” He laughs again, it’s sharp and bitter. 

Enjolras pinches the bridge of his nose “and why not?” 

“Look at you, and look at me, Enjolras. Really. Can you imagine how stupid you’d look? The way people would pity you for being stuck with me?” 

“I don’t have a say in my own decision? I don’t get to tell you how happy you’ve made me— even when we’re fighting in the Cafe? How— how when you stopped coming to meetings I still waited, praying you’d run in late because you’re always late because you miss the 2pm N train and have to wait for the 2:15 that has an extra stop so you’re late. Every day.” He can feel his eyes start to burn, but continues

“I don’t— I don’t get to look at you, every day and see how beautiful you are to me? It doesn’t matter what the rest of the world thinks, or what you think. It’s my right, it’s my decision to look at you, and want to be with you. And think you’re beautiful. You can’t take that from me.” 

before Grantaire can react, Enjolras just kneels down in front of him and hugs him tightly, as Grantaire still sits in the kitchen chair. He breathes in the smell of Enjolras’ laundry detergent, and shampoo as he snakes his arms around the smaller man. If Enjolras was any stronger, the way he squeezed Grantaire could possibly crack someone’s back, but it was enough. It was all the strength Enjolras could muster. 

For the first time in a while, Grantaire felt okay. 

After a few moments, they pulled away. Enjolras just stood, and pointed towards the flowers. 

“Those are for you, by the way.” 

Grantaire looks shocked, and slowly picks up the delicate flowers. 

“Hyacinths?” 

“Yeah I remembered your oil pastel piece.” 

Grantaire has never gotten flowers before. 

Madeline scurries in soon after, still weary to Enjolras, sticking close to Rs side “uncle R mama wants to know if you’re done being stupid yet, she has to start dinner.” She practically whispers in his ear. He just laughs and picks her up, plopping her on his lap as she giggles leans into his arm for leverage. 

She sits up again, whispering in his ear, low enough that Enjolras can’t hear her. 

Grantaire just laughs back and whispers in her ear back. 

“Well I dunno how to say that! Enjie is easier. You’re Enjie now okay?” Madeline says decidedly, sticking out her hand for him to shake. 

Enjolras looks at her little hand then back to Grantaire, who really is just trying not to laugh. enjolras just smiles and shakes her hand 

“Enjie it is, I suppose” . 

Marceline soon follows in, sending Madeline to go clean up for dinner. She recruits Enjolras and Grantaire to potato duty, both peeling the skin away for dinner. They throw glances as they peel, bumping hips to the music Marceline started up 

_”I am not the only traveler_

_Who has not repaid his debt_

_I've been searching for a trail to follow again_

_Take me back to the night we met“_

and for the first time in a while, Enjolras and Grantaire were both happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things: I made a playlist for this fic, because it’s such a song heavy story, [Here is the Spotify playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1zIxWYrnYeMm7Q4uY9QxgU?si=BtRlBGUWSk6LoZFU-oMtcA)
> 
> Second: I did set this as just a three chapter fic, so this is technically my last written chapter, but I really enjoyed the little world I created so I’m planning on continuing this as a college AU story, I hope you’ll stick around. 
> 
> Finally: I am literally begging you for a comment. Scream at me, give me a complement, idc. I worked rly hard and just love comments idk. Don’t feel pressured. (Feel pressured.) 
> 
> Come chat with me on [My Tumblr! .](https://yosoytriste.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Songs: 
> 
> Could’ve Been Me- The Struts  
> The Futile- Say Anything  
> At Last- Etta James  
> Drew Barrymore- SZA  
> The Ocean Grew Hands To Hold Me- The Wonder Years


End file.
